


The Haus that Jack Built

by Naeshira



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, Haus-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-04 11:55:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3066935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naeshira/pseuds/Naeshira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based loosely on the poem "The House that Jack Built." Jack works to make the Haus a home for himself and his team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jack and Shitty

Jack knew from his first week at Samwell that he’d have to get out of the dorms as soon as possible. He survived only by the semi-anonymity that came from the people on his floor who weren’t familiar with hockey. But that didn’t stop the stares and the random seniors and juniors who would wander through the freshman dorms looking for a glimpse of him.

Jack’s therapist had told him over the summer to focus on making himself a ‘space’ wherever he found himself. A place outside of the rink he could feel comfortable in. A place he could relax and unwind, and not feel overwhelmed with other people’s expectations. Jack assumed she meant feng shui. Jack decided to take it further.

The Haus was his only option, there was no way he couldn’t live there next year. Luckily for him, though, senior forward Jeremy O’Donnell was possibly the biggest Canadiens fan Jack had ever met. All he needed were easy promises of authentic gear and signed jerseys from his dad’s old teammates, and Jack’s dibs were locked.

But there were two rooms opening up in the Haus next year. One was his, the other… he’d need to figure out the right person to move in with. The choice was surprisingly easy.

 _This is the Haus that Jack built._  
~~~~

It was almost an accident that Jack had met Shitty. Jack had been apprehensive when he’d heard there was another hockey player on his floor. He’d kept his door closed during move in, not really wanting to meet anyone. But on the third day in, someone had knocked. He was almost surprised it’d taken that long.

“Hey!” An impressive mustache and matching flow was the first thing he saw when he opened the door. “Damn, Angela was right, you are the cutie with a booty. Jack Zimmermann, right?”

“Yeah. Hi.” Jack had introduced himself, and they shook hands.

“I’m on the hockey team, too. First practice is tomorrow, you ready?” The strange man had basically invited himself in, sprawling across Jack’s bed like he already owned the place.

Jack shrugged towards his hockey bag and the stick propped against the wall. “I guess. I haven’t played in a few months.” He paused, not sure if he’d let himself say too much. There was no doubt that this guy knew who he was, and knew the sort of downward spiral he’d let himself fall into. He hadn’t played because he couldn’t play. The rehab center didn’t exactly have an ice rink, as nice as it was.

But Jack saw no judgment in this guy. “Me neither.” Was all he’d said, “I played at Andover last year. Boys called me Shitty.”

“But you’re here on an athletic scholarship, right?” Jack asked.

“Nah, brah, my name’s Shitty.” He gave Jack a thumbs up. “I may or may not have been high when I agreed to that nickname. But it’s grown on me, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”

Shitty sat up suddenly and gave Jack a serious look. “Listen, I get stoned sometimes, but if you don’t want me to mention getting high around you, let me know. I’ll respect your boundaries, dude.”

Jack paused, not used to the blunt acknowledgement of his issues. Then he smiled “Thanks. But I don’t mind.”

Shitty smiled back. “Great! Now tell me what you think of Coach Murray. He has the potential to be a misogynistic asshole, but he was really cool with the women’s team at Harvard, right?”

~

Three weeks later, Jack was convinced that this was the most he’d smiled in a year. Shitty held no expectations of him beyond friendship. While Jack wasn’t quite comfortable enough to lay on Shitty’s bed in the nude (and was that a shock the first time he’d walked in on that…), he was comfortable enough to spend an evening drinking beer and watching documentaries on Shitty’s tiny TV. And that was an improvement that he was actually excited to tell his therapist about.

B. “Shitty” Knight would have to be his roommate next year. The only question came with how to convince the other graduating senior, Carter Marsh.

Jack wasn’t sure how it happened, but the solution came one Tuesday in October. It had been a day full of midterms and Shitty had appeared in his dorm with “the key to relaxation, brah.” He found himself face-down on his bed, with Shitty perched on his ass, working strong fingers into the deep knots in his shoulders.

“This would be the point most bros would start shouting ‘no-homo,’ but I think it’s a stupid phrase.” Shitty was explaining, “Like, talk about the fucking fragility of traditional views of masculinity. If you can’t even sit on another guy’s ass (your ass is the most comfortable pillow ever, by the way) without feeling threatened, you don’t deserve whatever metaphorical man-card life has given you, ya know?”

“Hmm.” Jack had answered. “Y’know,” he grunted when Shitty ground his thumb in a particularly tense bundle of nerves by his spine, “Marsher’s been stressing about finals.”

“Bro, Marsher stresses about everything.” Shitty acknowledged, “Like, you could offer him a trip for froyo and he’d stress about getting the right flavor.”

“Yeah. But like, your backrubs are really good. And stress-relieving. And, uh, Haus-worthy, I think.” Jack continued.

Shitty’s hands paused. “Are you suggesting I offer him backrubs for dibs?”

Jack turned his face and found Shitty grinning at him through his mustache. “Mr. Zimmermann, you sly motherfucker. You want me to be your roomie, don’t you?”

Jack shrugged as best he could in his position. “It’s just a thought.”

“It’s a beautiful thought.” Shitty asserted, returning to his massage with vigor. “There’s a Haus party tonight, I’ll offer.” 

So Jack added another brick to his Haus.

 _This is the friend, solid and kind, who lived in the Haus that Jack built._  
~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angela: I needed a name, for a person who could point Shitty in the right direction to Jack's room. I imagine she's a WGSS major too, just cause I like that idea.  
> Jeremy O'Donnell: Jack never mentioned who he got dibs from, so I made him up.  
> Carter Marsh and backrubs: Check out the comic where Bitty gets his dibs from Johnson and R+H make a Hockey Shit episode. I'm gonna stay as true to comic as I can.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed reading it!  
> Up next is Johnson's chapter. =)
> 
> EDIT: Fixed some formatting


	2. Johnson

Jack had grown up around hockey players. There were very few times in his life that he could remember when he wasn’t surrounded by people who could skate and regularly competed over a tiny hunk of rubber. He thought he had a good handle on that particular demographic. That was until he moved into the Haus and met its inhabitants. 

He knew Berger and Cohen and Johnson from practice and games and team activities, of course. He was very familiar with them, and they all got along well. But living with someone was even stranger than seeing them every day in practice. 

Alex Berger left his socks on every available surface. Jack knew they were his socks, because every single one of them was a black nike brand. Jack and Shitty shared their own bathroom, but they could still find a pair of socks left in their sink. He lived almost exclusively out of a bulk box of ramen, supplemented with hot sauce that would leave the kitchen smelling strongly enough to water Jack’s eyes. 

Dave Cohen had a thing with leaving his homework scattered down the stairs, because rather than share his workspace with Berger, he’d sit on the stairs below the Canadian flag and read his textbooks. He also had the most annoying alarm clock in the world, and it would guarantee to wake the entire Haus. Cohen would repeatedly hit snooze until Berger snapped and Jack could hear him stomp across the ceiling and thrown the alarm into the wall. 

The two were relatively quiet as roommates, at least until it was time to decide whose turn it was to bring a girl over. They were also both graduating this year, a fact that Jack kept in the back of his mind when looking over the incoming frogs. But he’d worry about that later, deciding to focus first on the junior he was currently living with.

John Johnson was particularly interesting. He stayed in his room for the most part, and whenever he did leave, he was either at the library or in class. Jack could go almost a week at a time not seeing Johnson at all outside of practice. 

He asked Cohen about it at one of their “Mandatory Haus Bonding Sessions,” where the seniors would drag Jack and Shitty down to the den to play Mario Kart and drink beers. Johnson was absent. 

Cohen had shrugged. “Goalies are weird, dude, don’t worry about it. I think he just likes having time to philosophize. Has he told you his ‘Life is Like a Webcomic’ theory yet?” 

 ~

But Jack crossed paths with Johnson the next morning getting coffee out of their half-broken coffee maker. “Hey.” He greeted.

“Hey.” Johnson had nodded back, “You guys got pretty loud last night, what was up?”

“Berger and Cohen’s Mandatory Haus Bonding Session?” Jack said, pulling milk out of the fridge and smelling it to see if it was fresh. It wasn’t. 

“…Oh. Fun.” Johnson muttered, finally getting the coffee maker to work. “Sounds like a good setting to work in. Please tell me Shitty wore pants while he was on the couch. It’d be a terrible plot twist if he got a disease or something. That’s not where this story is supposed to go.”

Jack stared at the back of Johnson’s head. It felt like all of their conversations had this sort of tone to them, with Johnson relating their situation to a story that Jack was barely perusing. “Um, yeah, he was wearing pants.” 

“Good!” Johnson checked his phone before grabbing his coffee and his backpack and running to class. 

Jack made a mental note to buy more milk and tossed the half-full jug in the trash, wondering why Johnson never stayed around. 

~ 

It was almost a month later that they had another Bonding Session. Halfway through the second _Pirates of the Caribbean_ movie, Jack was voted to do the next beer run, and he struggled out of Shitty’s octopus-like cuddling to escape to the kitchen. There, he ran into Johnson, who had sneaked down the stairs for food.

“Hey, where have you been?” Jack asked, the two beers already in his system making him talkative.

Johnson pointed vaguely towards the ceiling with his fork. “Working on an essay, what’s going on?” 

“Another one of Berger and Cohens’ Sessions.” Jack answered. “They found out I haven’t seen the _Pirates of the Caribbean_ movies and demanded I watch them.”

Johnson nodded, taking another bite of… whatever he was eating. Jack couldn’t quite tell what it was; Johnson tended to cook experimental recipes. “Sounds like good character development.” 

Jack paused a moment, three beers in his hands. “You should… You should come to these things. It’s team bonding, and stuff. And we live together.”

Johnson stood, not looking at Jack, and placed his now empty plate in the sink. “My plot line isn’t really essential to the Haus’s narrative,’ he said, “I’m really more necessary on the ice, I guess.” He flashed a smirk over his shoulder, “Hashtag side character problems.” 

Jack still hadn’t quite got the hang of Johnson’s literary metaphors, but he’d spent enough time in a low place himself to be able to recognize the vague self-deprecation in those words. 

“Johnson,” Jack started, but his phone buzzed in his pocket. 

Shitty had texted him: “Beer? ={D” Jack pocketed his phone. His goalie was still standing by the sink, uncharacteristically fiddling with his baseball cap.

“Johnson, you’re important off the ice too.” He said bracingly. He tried to explain it, how Johnson belonged in the Haus as much as the others, but he struggled to find the words to translate it into Johnson’s way of speaking. “There’d be, uh, plot lines missing if you weren’t in the Haus?” 

He cringed; the words felt awkward in his mouth. Somehow Johnson made his metaphors so much more smoothly. 

Johnson gave him an odd smile, like he knew what Jack was thinking no matter how badly he’d fumbled saying it. “Thanks, bro,” he finally said, before patting him on the shoulder and heading back upstairs.

Shitty texted him again, a single question mark this time. Jack grabbed the beers and returned to the den, double checking that Shitty still had his pants on. 

~ 

The next Mandatory Haus Bonding Session, Jack stepped across the hall and knocked on Johnson’s door. 

“It’s open!” 

Jack opened the door and leaned in, taking in the mess of books and the shutout pucks on the bookshelf. “The boys wanna do a _Die Hard_ marathon downstairs, you in?”

Johnson looked up from the book he was reading on his bed. “Oh, sure.” Then he grinned. “This is why you’re a good captain, Jack. A good protagonist, too.”

Jack grinned back. He still didn’t fully understand Johnson, but he got enough to figure him out now. “Thanks.” 

 

So Jack found another brick to add to his Haus.

_This is the goalie, who lived cross the hall from_  
the friend, solid and kind, in the Haus that Jack built.  
~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's Johnson! 
> 
> It's interesting to add personality to characters that have only been mentioned by name. So there's the barest layout of that...  
> And, if you couldn't tell, that was a mustache in Shitty's smiley face. My dad sends them to me all the time, and I think it's cute. 
> 
> Up next is Ransom and Holster!  
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter!  
> ={D


	3. Ransom and Holster

It was October before Jack turned his attention to the attic. The only thing Jack knew for sure was that they needed a couple of frogs who had the potential to be very good friends. Or at least, who could put up with each other for long periods of time.

It had been Shitty, actually, who put up the nominees, pulling Jack to the side at practice and pointing. “I christened them,” he said, chest puffing like a proud father, “Ransom and Holster.” 

Jack watched the two new d-men run through drills. Justin Oluransi and Adam Birkholtz. They were still rusty freshman, but they moved well on the ice. Holster, Jack knew, had played on a team in juniors, and was at least a couple years older than the other frogs. Probably not more mature though, he noticed, as he and Ransom had already started skating into each other and trying to knock the other into the benches. 

“They seem friendly.” Jack nodded, and Shitty grinned at him. 

 ~

At the next Haus Bonding Session, Jack was squeezed between Shitty and Johnson on the couch. He craned his head to look over Johnson’s baseball cap at Cohen. “You guys figure out your dibs yet?” He asked, as casually as he could.

Cohen shrugged, “Not really? They’re all pretty cool dudes, I guess.”

Berger leaned forward from his chair, a dangerous glint in his eye. “I don’t know who yet, but I know exactly what I’ll make him do!” 

“Be your maid?” Cohen guessed.

“Complete with a maid outfit.” Berger winked back. 

“Nice.” Shitty nodded approvingly.

Jack rolled his eyes, wondering vaguely if Ransom or Holster would agree to a maid outfit.

~ 

Berger had actually purchased a maid outfit, complete with a frilly apron, and pulled it out in the locker room one day. “Yo frogs!” He’d called, his voice booming over the noise of the shower. “Whosoever wants my bed must wear this and be my maid!”

The locker room went quiet as the team looked at the four freshman sitting halfway dressed. “For how long?” someone asked.

Berger got a manic gleam in his eye. “For… a whole semester.” 

The frogs all groaned and Berger carefully packed the maid outfit away. 

“I’d do it for a week, tops.” Einhardt muttered, from next to Jack. 

Jack nodded. “Berger can be gross, eh.” 

“How about you, Cohen?” Shitty called, “What’s your dibs worth?”

Cohen shrugged, thinking about it. The frogs were all watching him, hoping for something less humiliating. “Do my homework for, uh, a month.” He finally said.

The frogs quickly muttered amongst themselves. “That sounds more fair.” Ransom finally admitted, “Whoever does it best gets the dibs?” 

 ~

“Looks like Ransom’s getting started on Cohen’s dibs?” Jack had asked Holster after team breakfast one day merely a week later. Ransom was reading through a chapter of Cohen’s psychology book.

“Yup.” Holster nodded. “Dude’s starting to freak out over his own classes though, so I don’t know how he’s gonna do it.” 

“It’s a good thing Cohen left a lot of his gen-eds till last then.” Jack said. Then, as casually as he could, added, “I bet Ransom would make a better roommate than that asshole in your dorm though.” 

“He totally would!” Holster agreed immediately. “Matt complains every time I try to play my music! Which is waaaay better than his stupid country-themed Pandora station.” 

Jack declined to mention that he preferred country music to whatever Holster blared from his headphones before practice. He wouldn’t have to listen to it when Holster was in the attic. 

But Holster was right, Ransom was starting to look stressed out. Jack would find him sitting in the kitchen of the Haus at all hours, trying to work his way through two or three different assignments. He would jump at small noises and he’d forget to eat unless Holster showed up and dragged him to the dining hall. Jack would make him coffee whenever he’d first show up, and then leave him alone, unsure what else to do.

It was late into November before Ransom finished his dibs work. He stood up in triumph one morning, shoving Cohen’s math book at him and declaring, “Finished!” 

Cohen and Jack had started clapping and Shitty declared a kegster. At the party, Jack found out that none of the other frogs had wanted to try Cohen’s homework after seeing Ransom suffer. So Cohen shook his hand and gave him dibs before lifting him over the keg. 

 ~

Jack came back from winter break, exhausted from travel and ready to crash into his bed. But the first thing he smelled walking into the Haus was something frying. He peeked his head into the kitchen. Berger sat smugly at the table, typing at his phone, and Holster stood at the stove cooking, from what Jack could guess, grilled cheese sandwiches.

“Hey, captain!” Berger called, “wanna sandwich?”

Holster looked over at him and waved with his spatula. He was wearing a frilly white apron over his front.

“Where’s the rest of the outfit?” Jack asked, blankly.

“Have you seen this kid?” Berger motioned towards Holster, who flexed his arms, and Jack decided not to mention that they were almost the same age. “The apron was the only thing that would fit him.” 

“I make a mean grilled cheese.” Holster added, and he reached for the bag of bread on the counter.

“Nah, I’m good.” Jack shook his head. He shrugged his shoulder, indicating that he still had his bag. “I’m just gonna head upstairs.” 

Holster saluted with his spatula and returned to the stove.

“You know you sound more Canadian after break?” Berger commented.

Jack grinned. “I know, eh?” 

 

And Jack added two more bricks to the Haus.

 _These are the d-men, wild and fun,_  
who protected the goalie who lived cross the hall from  
the friend, solid and kind, in the Haus that Jack built.  
~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say on this one, it was a bit rushed. Ransom and Holster are harder for me to write.  
> Einhardt: One of the players mentioned in the comic, (Linemates) but never really seen.
> 
> Bitty is up next! Hope you're enjoying! =D


	4. Bitty and Beyond

Jack’s first encounter with the frogs was their first skate, which consisted mostly of a warm up and the coaches outlining the season and their expectations for the team. The frogs sat together on the bench, united in the fact that they didn’t know anyone else. 

Ollie O’Meara, Pacer Wicks, and Eric Bittle. And one of them had brought a pie. 

The frogs managed to get into the team dynamic as quickly as anyone, and Jack started to look over them as potential candidates for Johnson’s room, besides their work on the ice.

O’Meara and Wicks stuck to themselves for the most part. O’Meara was quiet and studious, and whenever Jack saw him on campus he had his nose stuck in a book. According to Shitty, who’d taken it upon himself to interview the frogs and informally introduce them to the team, O’Meara was studying to be an engineer. O’Meara seemed pretty normal, which the Haus could honestly use more of, so Jack kept him in mind. 

Wicks, on the other hand, was as enthusiastic at parties as Ransom and Holster. He tended to drag whoever he was with (often O’Meara) into drinking games and, on one memorable occasion, a brush with campus police. It had had something to do with a six-pack of beer, O’Meara’s boxers, and the stray cat that lived by the freshman dorms. Jack hadn’t asked for details. Wicks had already admitted to regularly feeding that cat, and had a soft spot for animals, which was fitting because he was studying pre-vet. Wicks was nice, Jack decided, but if the Haus was caught keeping whatever strays that Wicks had brought in, they could get in serious trouble, so Jack crossed him off the list. 

And then there was Eric Bittle. Bittle, who couldn’t take a hit. Bittle, who obviously needed more protein. Bittle, who had a strange obsession with pie. Bittle, who, apparently, the rest of the team loved. It had to be the pie, Jack decided. Free food could do wonders for a hockey team. Of course, when Jack snuck down to the kitchen to try some of his baking, he had to admit it was amazing. 

~ 

But Jack was already a junior. His time at college was supposed to clear his head, and get him recuperated enough to return to professional hockey. Half his time was up already, and Jack couldn’t help but feel he had nothing to show for it. His mental health game was doing better, he supposed, but his hockey game wasn’t. He’d been captain for a year and they still hadn’t reached the playoffs, much less the championship. He started pushing his team further than he’d pushed last year, hoping the frogs could keep up too.

Bittle wasn’t keeping up. He was good; he was fast, and he could pass a puck with no problem. But he was terrified of contact. Finally deciding that the team would be better if he took matters into his own hands, Jack started their early morning checking practices. 

He’d never got this involved in training other teammates, he’d never had to. But Jack was feeling that nervous itch again. It was that familiar twist of anxiety in his gut that kept him up at night. It was a nagging voice in the back of his head that said he wasn’t improving, wasn’t reaching expectations, wasn’t moving forward. Helping Bittle helped that. As Bittle progressively got better, it eased Jack’s tension.

~

“You’re a better player when you’re with Bittle.” That’s what Coach Murray had told him. It was like a slap in the face. They had a rocky start, especially after Bittle got his lucky goal, which still didn’t sit right with Jack. Blind chance felt like an insult to hard work, which Jack felt was the only way to make talent count. 

But the more Jack thought about it, the more it made sense. They were good. Checking practice had given them a head start on reading each other, so on the ice it was like a sixth sense. The average number of points Jack got during games increased by a large margin, and soon enough they were in the playoffs. _He was finally in the playoffs._ Hell, Jack was willing to give Bitty his own dibs for that.

Then Bitty took a bad hit the first round. Then they lost in the second round. It was a crushing disappointment, but Jack tried to take it in stride. It wasn’t the loss that unsettled him, he noticed. Part of playing hockey was realizing that you were gonna lose. Losing games was something Jack was familiar with. He didn’t like it, of course, no one did, but he knew how to deal with it. 

The unsettling part was that he’d watched, almost in slow motion, as Bitty had been checked and literally thrown into the air. He’d promised. He’d told Bitty he’d had his back. He’d _fucking promised_ and his best line mate ended up with a concussion. He’d let Bitty down. And that realization hurt more than he expected it to. 

~

Jack had almost forgotten about Johnson’s dibs until Bitty announced that he’d got them. Amongst his teammates noises of surprise, Jack suddenly felt relaxed. And confused. Half of his confusion was that strange theme music that accompanied Ransom and Holster’s chalkboard, Jack hadn’t even known they had one of those. 

Johnson caught him in the kitchen later that day. “Hey.” He greeted, before pulling a slice of Bitty’s latest pie out of the fridge. 

“Hey.” Jack answered. He searched for a way to ask about the dibs. He eventually settled with, “Why Bittle?”

Johnson rose his eyebrows and lifted the slice of pie towards Jack’s face. “He was the obvious one?” 

“But you didn’t even make him earn the dibs?” 

“Jack, he baked about a thousand pies for the Haus, how is that not earning his dibs?” Then Johnson winked. “Besides, character interaction is important for plot development.”

The two fell into a comfortable silence until Johnson finished his pie. “Jack.” He said.

Jack looked up from his history book.

“It’s still your Haus.” Johnson had that smile again, the one he got when he seemed to read Jack’s mind. “But I think Bitty will be a good one to leave it to, don’t you?”

Jack couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah. Thanks, Johnson.” 

 

So the final brick was added to Jack’s Haus. And it felt stable again.

 

 _This is the baker, southern and small,_  
who mothered the d-men, wild and fun,  
who protected the goalie who lived cross the hall from  
the friend, solid and kind, in the Haus that Jack built.  
~~~~~

 

Jack was happy. He could feel it like a balloon swelling up in his stomach. Of course, part of that was due to the crisp, fresh, apple pie on the counter in front of him. Bitty had just finished it before excusing himself to run upstairs and vlog, so Jack stole two pieces and took them to the kitchen table.

“Hey, Shitty.” He said, setting the plate down on top of a pile of law papers, “need a distraction?”

“Fuck yes,” Shitty sighed, lifting his forehead from where it was resting on the table. He shoved his laptop away and grabbed at the pie. “I’m so damn glad Bits is in the Haus this year.”

“Yeah,” Jack agreed. They both ate a moment in silence, savoring the food. “Speaking of,” Jack finally continued, “We need to decide who gets our rooms.”

Shitty’s eyes lit up and he immediately reached for a notebook, ripping out a clean sheet of paper. He sketched out a basic diagram of the Haus, marking E. Bittle, A. Birkholtz, and J. Oluransi in their respective rooms. Their own rooms were left empty. “Two rooms, three frogs.” He said, and wrote their names on the side of the paper.

Jack rose an eyebrow at Shitty’s method. 

“Don’t give me that look, Jack.” Shitty smirked, “You know we need to plan this out. We can’t leave this Haus without giving it one last step towards total fucking perfection!” 

Jack thought that it was totally fucking perfect already, but grabbed a pen as well. It was like laying out a play on the ice, he supposed. “Should we start listing the pros and cons of each matchup?” 

So Jack and Shitty leaned over the paper on the table, planning the next bricks to leave… for Bitty’s Haus. 

 

 _These are the frogs; chill, helpful, and young,_  
Who followed the baker, southern and small,  
Who mothered the d-men, wild and fun,  
Who protected the goalie who lived cross the hall  
From the friend, solid and kind,  
In the Haus that Jack built.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, had to add character to O'Meara and Wicks, cause we know nothing about them beyond fist-bumping. So there's that. 
> 
> And there's the end! I hope you guys enjoyed it!
> 
> =D


End file.
